I think I may have mentioned before that some crazy stuff would be coming soon. I am a different person than I was back in my younger days. Much of what I was then will slowly come out in my posts between now and Spring of the coming year.

I was often confused (some might say mentally disturbed) during those years. I remember that the ’70s, ’80s and much of the ’90s were a blur of incidents that were filled with a myriad of changes that were not necessarily beneficial to the development of my present day’s  character.

The ’70s were a messed up time with many occurrences that caused much anguish in my life. This is the period where I realized that writing could bring relief to the pain I lived with during those years.  I will be posting a piece about some of my the “Friends” in my life back then.


The ’80s were much better even though I was still struggling with some issues.  The birth of my two daughters brought much happiness even though I still struggled with a lot of baggage from the past. Also a couple of small business ventures failed.

The ’90s were rather turbulent. My son was born in ’93 and we enjoyed a period of happiness that slowly faded. For whatever reason things began to disintegrate again. Another painful period followed.

All that is past now.  My life is full of happiness these days and the future looks brighter now than ever. I will post a lot of my experiences and then if the need arises I will explain that happiness.  It should not be hard to figure out.


follow the sun, follow a fading sun
out Highway 290 to the edge of Hill Country
withered cottonwoods with stunted mesquites
offer deceptive shade along Main Street
to a mixture of adobe, brick and clap-board
old and not so old with none being new

if by chance you must stop for the single light
you’ll see a general store across from a saloon
occupants of a twisted, faded hitching post
suffer patiently in the merciless sweltering heat
turn left at the light and follow a narrow street
to where it becomes lost among heat waves
heat waves dancing among dust devils

a dirt path follows a sagging fence past a door
of a weathered cottage once the home of Meyer
a withered little man, dried by the Texas sun
until he appeared juiceless; yet I once saw him cry
a great respecter of solitude and silence
who could talk for hours and hours
when one was there who needed to listen

his patience went far beyond mere patience
he could sit for hours lost in his own thoughts
maybe wandering through other places and times
seeking answers for questions as yet unasked
at times I can see his calloused hand reaching
beckoning me to come join him

I keep saying not yet, not yet
but not as loud or often as in the past

…..Jerry Marks